The air in Duskwind Haven was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, a whisper of a storm threading through the dense woods that surrounded the town. The moon loomed overhead, an absent sliver in the sky, swallowed by the dark. A new moon—a night of quiet, of uncertainty. For many wolves, it was a time of caution, of stillness. But for Rheon Draven, it was just another night without answers.
He stood at the edge of the Nightfall Hollow Pack’s newly built territory, his arms crossed over his chest, his stance rigid. The wind stirred through his auburn hair, catching on the rough stubble shadowing his jaw. His storm-blue eyes scanned the perimeter, narrowed, assessing. The land was his now—his to guard, his to protect. And yet, it did not feel like home.
Perhaps because home had died with his parents, their blood staining the snow, their bodies torn apart by monsters who had vanished into the night.
The memory burned in him like an unhealed wound, raw despite the years that had passed. Two years. Two years since he had been away on an assignment, only to return to the ruins of what had once been his world. His mother’s golden eyes, once filled with warmth, forever frozen. His father’s body, carved with a mark Rheon could not decipher, his last moments spent fighting an enemy they had never named. And then, just as quickly, the murderers were gone. No scent trail. No evidence. Nothing but ghosts.
Rheon clenched his jaw, the muscles in his arms tensing as he exhaled slowly. The rage that simmered beneath his skin had not faded, nor had the duty that bound him to his pack. The pack his parents had died protecting.
And now, the elders wanted to shackle him with something else—a mate.
His teeth clenched as he turned his gaze toward the town beyond the trees, where the streets of Duskwind Haven pulsed with light and laughter, oblivious to the weight of his world. The humans here, the rogue wolves, the supernatural drifters—none of them knew or cared about what it meant to be an Alpha. To carry the burden of hundreds of lives. To sacrifice everything, including his own desires, his own future, his own heart.
The wind shifted, and a scent curled into his senses—sharp, electric, unfamiliar.
He turned his head slightly, his nostrils flaring. It wasn’t wolf. Not fully. It was something else, something laced with magic and shadow, something wrong. His body tensed instinctively, his wolf clawing at his skin, demanding he hunt, demanding he pursue.
And then he heard it.
A voice.
Laughter—low, edged with something bitter.
From the direction of the town.
Rheon exhaled through his nose, his instincts screaming for him to investigate. It wasn’t his business. It wasn’t his fight. And yet, his feet were already moving.
Duskwind Haven – The Howl & Thorn Tavern
The tavern was alive with noise, a steady hum of drunken murmurs, clinking glasses, and low, sultry music from a beaten-up radio in the corner. The wooden beams overhead sagged with age, the air thick with the scent of stale beer, sweat, and something sharper—the underlying tension that came with too many wolves in one place.
At the center of it all, standing behind the scarred wooden bar, was Aeris Valkryn.
Her grey eyes, cold and unreadable, flicked from one patron to another as she wiped down the counter with slow, practiced movements. Her jagged black hair was swept behind her ears, exposing the sharp angles of her face, the pale skin that seemed to catch the dim light just enough to make her look unreal.
She had learned long ago not to stand out. Not to draw attention. But no matter how much she tried to fade into the background, people always looked.
Because she was different. Because they could sense it.
They didn’t know what she was, but they knew she wasn’t like them.
Half-wolf. Half-warlock. Not enough of either to be accepted anywhere.
She poured a drink for one of the regulars, barely listening as he slurred something about the pack’s new Alpha. Something about how he’d be forced to take a mate soon.
Her lips curled in amusement.
Poor bastard.
She had no interest in pack politics. No interest in Alphas, Betas, mates, or any of the bullshit that came with their world.
But she did know one thing.
Men like that—Alphas, kings, rulers—they always thought they could take whatever they wanted.
And she had spent her whole life making sure no one took her.
Her fingers curled around the glass she was holding, her knuckles whitening slightly before she let out a slow breath, releasing the tension.
Not here. Not now.
She had bigger things to worry about.
Like the debt collectors who had been circling her like vultures.
Like the landlord who would come knocking again tomorrow, threatening to throw her out.
Like the fact that her magic—the thing she had long since buried, long since silenced—was waking up.
A shadow shifted at the entrance of the bar, and a man walked in.
Tall. Broad-shouldered.
And carrying the scent of the storm.
Aeris barely flicked her gaze toward him at first, but the moment her senses brushed against his, something in her body reacted violently.
Her breath hitched.
Her wolf—the one that had never truly been whole, never fully woken—stirred.
And then his eyes found hers.
Deep, stormy blue.
Unyielding. Searching. Burning.
Rheon Draven.
The Alpha.
And the moment their eyes met, something shifted.
The world around them faded, the sounds dulling, the air thickening.
Aeris’s pulse roared in her ears.
Something ancient whispered beneath her skin. Something she had spent years denying, ignoring, rejecting.
A bond.
A mate bond.
Impossible.
She forced herself to breathe, forced herself to look away.
But it was too late.
She had felt it.
And so had he.
